happy imbolc, mister, kids & bunnies, and honey girl. it means ewe's milk, which i have never tried. i had goats milk but i always smelled their pee soaked bodies writhing in the verge and recoiled. ewe's are more refined i think. anyway, from thoughtco...

By February, most of us are tired of the cold, snowy season. Imbolc reminds us that spring is coming soon, and that we only have a few more weeks of winter to go. The sun gets a little brighter, the earth gets a little warmer, and we know that life is quickening within the soil.

 -thanks to suzanne, bringer of pagan holidays and wee crystal castles, for illuminating this frozen moment for me and the cats in slanting sun.  
is it hard to be a pagan in the city grid with developer's plotting every parcel? nah, it's so fucking easy, mates. just get on the ground and roll wit it. 

also since i'm reading the art of loading brush i should mention it and imbolc are treating of farming and anticipation of nurturing and cultivating the soil, or perhaps lamenting and mourning the land grab and the repossessed farm. the farm went out of my family long since, but i remember, and memory is a farm.